Fragments
by Hyperminimalism
Summary: Life happens in short bursts, and theres no exception for Cid or Vincent. But it can also be rather unpredictable, and they'll be surprised to find what it will bring Heavy shounen-ai theme/Valewind . Plaese R&R!
1. 01

**01**

Cid sat angrily, parked at the kitchen table in a mess of documents. He was frustrated, downright _pissed_ if truth be told, and nothing—not even the dozens of cigarettes he had been through already—had seem to be of any help. It certainly didn't alleviate his irritation either when Shera appeared from the back of the house; her face as solemn as he'd ever seen.

She came to the end of the table and stood there with sorrow in her big brown eyes, just staring down at the pilot with his head cradled in his hands.

"It's time," the brunette said. Her entire body filled with apprehension, Shera watched patiently, waiting for an answer. But the hope of ever hearing what she truly wanted to hear had long since passed. They'd beaten that conversation to death, and there had been no change whatsoever.

It took Cid a moment to reply, but he finally plucked the glasses from his face and set them on the papers below. Cid then stood up out of the chair to face her and took one determined step forward

His voice was low, pleading. "Don't do this," he said, although it was clear she'd made up her mind.

Shera could only turn away her gaze, shaking her head in disappointment.

"I'm sorry…I've made up my mind. I'm going."

With those last words, Shera said no more and returned to where she came from. Last night he recalled those empty threats; one in the form of an empty suitcase that sat unpromisingly at the edge of the bed. But this morning it was different. Cid _had_ given his all; even ended up on his knees at one point. Though it had proved not enough to convince her to stay, he was keen enough to recognize when it was time to surrender.

Retreating back to the table, Cid put his glasses back on, except this time, remained focused on listening to Shera as she made her way out of the house. Only a few moments had passed until the front door shut; clicked loudly in his mind—he let himself fall apart completely then, head hitting the table with a loud _thump_.


	2. 02

**02**

_The ringing this time was muffled by his pocket, even though Cid had specifically left the house to avoid the constant phone calls. He would always attempt to cure what ailed him with the touch and feel of the cool metal of his ship; the smell of oil and the fresh, cool breeze against his skin that blew into the hangar doorway. No such luck this time._

"_Yeah?" he snapped, uncaring of who was on the other line. It wasn't who he was expecting, however._

"_..Er, hello Cid, it's Reeve."_

_Cid paused at first, feeling a bit embarrassed now that he knew who he'd snapped at and quickly adjusted his tone._

"_Uhh, sorry bout that," the pilot sighed. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and stepped aside from his previous engagement to take the call. "It's been a while. How are things?"_

"_Not so good to be honest. I hate to have to call you under these circumstances, but I'm rather desperate."_

"…_What is it?" _

"_Well…"_

That's how it all began.

On a rather dangerous mission, which had somehow gone awry, a group of WRO employees had been rendered incapacitated—described to a limit for confidential reasons—and found themselves in need of rescuing. Immediately concerned by this, and for good reason as what air support they had on hand could not reach the location, Reeve did not hesitate to seek out the one person he knew was perfectly capable to take on such a task. It was the last piece of information that convinced Cid first and foremost, for some strange reason, to agree without any qualms.

He was not, however, expecting to come upon the scene he did.

From where he sat, his eyes traveled to the lagging group members, their numbers thinned as the last straggled inside. It was cold out there, and pissing rain; the droplets pounded vehemently against the ships metal frame. And there he was—Vincent Valentine soaked from head to toe, not to mention coated in a generous film of mud.

Laughter was his first response, though not loud or boisterous, he chuckled softly and approached the man who wore a frown almost as if to say _I know what you're thinking…_

"I've seen some shit in my day, but this is a rare site."

Vincent simply ignored the comment, and passed the blond to proceed across the bridge. He intended on ignoring the snide remarks Cid had stored away for such an occasion (should it ever occur); although Vincent had never planned on letting Cid see him this way­­—he'd make an exception this time.

The pilot, content with the fact that the rest of his crew could handle take off, followed Vincent on his search for an empty room. He recalled the layout of the entire ship clearly, and came upon an unoccupied lavatory after a brief search; the first thing to go was his cloak.

"What the hell were you guys doing out there?" Cid asked, leaning against one of the sinks next to the gunman. Cid crossed his arms over his chest, watching as the dark-haired man splashed his face a few times with water. Most of the dirt covered his bottom half, but he would get to that later.

"It's not important," Vincent replied, wincingly slightly.

"Doesn't look like it's not important. I can't remember a time when I've seen you so…filthy."

"Things didn't go as planned…"

"Yeah." Snicker. "I coulda guessed that one." Pausing briefly, Cid narrowed his eyes as something slightly off kilter caught his attention. "What is that?"

The concerned question caught Vincent off guard, and he peered down in the direction Cid was staring. Just above the last of his ribs was a tear in the fabric of his shirt, and a dark liquid leaked out from it. But it seemed as though, up until this point, the gunman had completely ignored how painful the injury actually was.

"Vince…you should really get that checked out."

"I'm fine," he insisted, deliberately avoiding the subject. It hurt, no doubt, Vincent couldn't argue against that, but he wasn't about ready to give in just yet. With the way things were going, it was clear he had already lost the game, and he knew exactly what would happen should he make a big deal out of something so insignificant.

"No…no, it looks pretty bad," Cid continued, even more worried seeing how much the gunman was now relying on the sink to keep his balance. "Vincent…"

No reply.

"…_Vince_?"

Just like that and the tables had turned; the pain became too prevalent to simply deny. His body collapsed to the floor like a rag doll just as quickly as he could refute the idea, and everything around him went completely dark.


	3. 03

**03**

It felt like only minutes from the moment when Vincent scared Cid half to death by losing consciousness on the bathroom floor, but when the gunner awoke an hour and a half later, he found himself in an unfamiliar room lying in an unfamiliar bed; his top half wrapped in gauze and the lower draped by the covers.

When reality struck that it wasn't _his_ bed, it hit him hard and it hit him fast and he sprang up in a frenzy only to wince at the sharp pain that struck a wrong chord. To his right from the bathroom, Cid appeared out of the corner of his eyes. He carried a glass of water in one hand while the other held something he couldn't see. And then Cid sat on the edge of the bed next to him, but his head was swimming with so much confusion that he could barely focus on much of anything other than that.

"Feelin' better?"

Vincent would've nodded in reply, except he figured it wouldn't do well for the dizzy feeling that overwhelmed him. On the nightstand beside the bed, Cid placed 2 white pills and handed the glass of water over. He accepted it graciously, downing the entire thing in only a few gulps. Vincent's mouth was dry and his throat grainy, so the water tasted like heaven.

"You scared the shit outta me back there," Cid explained.

He dared to ask for clarity. "What happened?"

"Well the medic from your group said you'd been injured trying to help one of the men; said he wasn't surprised this happened." Then it hit him. He had withheld an important piece of information. "It's been like this for almost a day now?"

Vincent had no intention of explaining himself; it seemed someone else had already done that for him. Though he could tell by the way Cid watched him that the pilot was concerned, and for good reason, too—he couldn't argue that the wound was bad enough to bring even _him_ down.

But it didn't turn out the way he thought it would. Cid never pushed the subject, never forced an answer out of him. Instead, the pilot stood from where he sat and went for the doorway.

"We're gonna land in a few minutes, so you should probably get dressed," he said, turning but pausing briefly before disappearing. "And uh…I won't tell Reeve about this…"


	4. 04

**04**

The man paced nervously beside his desk, hands clasped behind his back. Vincent on the other hand, sat still in the chair, waiting patiently for the president to say something.

After receiving such terrible news, it was only natural for Reeve to think the worst. From the moment the report came in he had been working diligently in order to figure out how much of a loss the mission would be considered in terms of time and finance… Then again, things could have been worse.

"This was bad, Vincent," Reeve sighed, finally taking a seat at his desk. "It's going to take some time to get things situated, you know."

He knew very well and didn't need to be told twice. What concerned Vincent the most was the decision Reeve would make for the future.

For a moment, the president averted his gaze, pausing to gather the thoughts that buzzed incessantly in his mind. There was still more, _much_ more to be discussed, and that was the bottom line. For now…

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to halt the entire operation until further notice.… _Not,_ just because of what happened, but I was informed that…there'd been some unnecessary injury."

Vincent—to himself—rolled his eyes, fearing the very fact that Reeve would discover the one piece of information he'd rather the man had not. Except that it couldn't have been Cid who spilled the beans since he gave him his word that he wouldn't. It must have been one of the other men…

"…I'm sorry."

There was no need to apologize; he wanted to say, except that his contrition was entirely understandable. Reeve had a business to run, and he couldn't concern himself with superfluous incidents like the one that took place on that mission.

So the gunman shook his head, brushing off the apology and stood from his chair on a bee line for the door knowing there was nothing more to discuss.


	5. 05

**05**

The restaurant slash bar he found himself at was located not far from the WRO building.

Vincent sat across from Cid in the booth in the corner under the miniscule light that hung overhead. But food was none of his concern. Cid had offered to treat him to lunch, and it was a generous proposal coming from the pilot; except that getting his mind off of what bothered him the most was all he cared about.

Before launching any conversation, the waitress; a small, blonde young woman who clearly had been well endowed, smiled playfully at the pilot—even going so far as to flash him a wink—pulled out her pad of paper and readied herself to take their order. It took some convincing, though, to get Vincent to actually order something more than a glass of water. And the waitress scurried off momentarily after Cid had done it for him—two of their famous house cheeseburgers.

"So I heard about what Reeve did. Sounds like you're out of a job…"

Of course, he _had _to bring that up…

"I expected it."

"Well it's not exactly like you were on the payroll. But you were gone for so long. What're you gonna do now? Will you go back to Kalm?"

_Kalm…_

That's right, he hadn't thought of that place for some time. There was one thing he knew for sure. He could not return to his home, and for good reason.

"Well?"

"…Well, that would be difficult."

"Difficult?" Cid laughed. "What do you mean?"

He hadn't told anyone about it, and the fact had even slipped his mind at one point. But Vincent surely didn't want to disclose his personal problems where they held no significance.

"I mean I have no home to return to," he replied casually, almost too much so.

As expected, the pilot took a moment to process the words he just heard. It took him a moment to say anything, but Cid managed, somehow…even through his complete and utter disbelief.

"No home?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I don't understand…"

"During the Deepground raid on Kalm, as I watched from my window, a chopper spotted me and released a missile in my general direction. I managed to miss being hit, but my home wasn't as fortunate."

Across the table Cid sat staring, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. It took him quite some time to even formulate a sentence, but when he did it was loud and filled with a sort of livid shock. "Are you saying this happened _six_ months ago? Vince…why the hell didn't you say anything?!"

_For that exact reason…_

"It's not important," the gunman began, but he was immediately cut off.

"Not important?" Cid echoed with a mocking laughter. "You're homeless and now jobless. What exactly where you planning on doing if you'd expected this?"

Planning had never been one of his strong points, and this situation was no exception. Cid was right, though. He would have to do something eventually… Their conversation was temporarily put on hold as the waitress returned with the food. She didn't stay long enough to pose as much of a distraction for Vincent, unfortunately.

"I don't know," was all he could say; the food in front of him looked increasingly nauseating by the minute. "An Inn, I suppose…until things can be worked out."

Vincent was taken by surprise when the pilot slammed his fist on the table and shook his head furiously.

"No. I won't let you do that. No friend of mine is going to shack up in some run down motel. There's an extra room in my house and you should use it."

"Cid..."

"Whatever it is you're worried about, it doesn't make a difference. It's fine, I insist. Just take the offer. You don't need to waste what little money you have left."

This sudden and unexpected burst of persistence caught Vincent by surprise. He'd never seen Cid so adamant about something in the entire time they'd known each other, especially when it came to anything regarding himself. Still…

"No," Vincent repeated. "I'll be fine in a room here until I can find something else…"

Perhaps he had said too much or been too firm with the pilot. It seemed to have enough effect to convince him he no longer needed to try and push the point.


	6. 06

**06**

Vincent dropped heavily onto the narrow mattress in the small room with a sigh. He had chosen an Inn a few blocks away from the restaurant where they eventually parted ways; on shaky terms for that matter, and unfortunately, for the gunman, he felt rather bad because of it. Vincent never intended to hurt the pilot's feelings. In fact, he couldn't even recall the reason why he'd rejected Cid's offer in the first place, but could only think of the unmistakable sorrowful expression he wore upon departing.

Besides having to share a house with a man he'd been forced to share space with a countless number of times before, Vincent had no clue why he couldn't use the extra room, for free in addition, as a temporary residence until he could manage on his own. But what pulled at him most was the obvious offence he had left the pilot with, bad enough that Vincent could kick himself.

He knew very well that he couldn't stay at the Inn for much longer on what little gil he had left, and wouldn't dare concern Reeve in search of reimbursement for his labor. Then it was settled. For now, sleep. In the morning, he would venture to Rocket Town.


	7. 07

**07**

Knock, knock, knock.

_Who the hell could that be?_ thought the pilot. He wasn't expecting any company, and had a mound of paperwork to go through with little time to entertain any visitors. But the set of knocks had caught his curiosity enough that he couldn't just ignore them. So he made his way to the front door to at least look through the eyehole, only to be surprised at who he was staring at.

He figured he might've pulled the door open too fast, but couldn't help the fact that he was happy to see Vincent standing in front of him. Cid didn't say much and moved aside instead to let the man through; cautiously, slowly yet surely stepping inside the house he hadn't seen for a while.

"You changed your mind?"

"So it seems…"

"Well good," Cid nodded, moving in further.

Vincent's eyes traveled to the kitchen table where he was set up in a disastrous mess of papers, and found himself second guessing his decision to come.

"You look busy," he gestured toward the table. Cid immediately brushed that off, though.

"Oh, nah not really. I was just working on a few things."

"What, might I ask?"

"Ahh, I'm actually in the process of opening a business, but it's not going as well as I'd hoped."

"A business?"

"Yeah. It's like an all purpose aircraft repair, dealership…type…except I'm a little low on funds and manpower right now." Cid waved a dismissive hand, utterly tired and downright thankful that Vincent had come when he did. "But I'm done trying to figure out these numbers for now; no use at this point." He glanced around briefly for any sort of bag, but Vincent had brought nothing and figured he'd get the gunman settled in a bit later. "You hungry?"


	8. 08

**08**

At the very tip of his consciousness, Cid could swear he smelled the faint aroma of something heavenly, beckoning him out of his heavy sleep. He didn't bother to fix up his appearance, and rolled out of bed still sporting a black tank top and gray sweatpants. Even though his clothes were disheveled and his hair tousled, the blond could only follow the scent through the hallway and into the kitchen to find Vincent at the stove—cooking breakfast.

"Oh, Vince. You didn't have to do this…"

With one plate in hand, the gunman approached the table, setting it in front of Cid as he took a seat.

"It was not a problem. Consider it the least I can do."

"Yeah, but you're a guest here."

In the kitchen again with his own plate, Vincent paused momentarily to come up with some witty reply to keep the other man quiet. "Then I supposed the other half is for me," he said, joining Cid at the table as well. "I also moved some of the papers, if that was okay."

Cid had already dug into his breakfast, scarfing it down as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. "Don't worry about it, they weren't organized anyway." He paused momentarily to swallow, and continued. "Mrm…Vince, this is great. I didn't know you could cook."

Their gaze met across the table briefly, but Vincent didn't bother to reply. Instead, something else plagued his mind, and he found it somewhat difficult to remain silent.

"When I was cleaning up the papers, I couldn't help but notice just how much manpower you were lacking, and I'd like to offer my help as a sort of compensation for letting me stay here."

For a moment, all Cid could do was sit there, apprehensively silent, though Vincent would never admit that. But he could tell that the blond was at least thinking about it, which meant he hadn't shot the idea down outright—a good sign, at least.

Once the pilot set his fork down and swallowed the last of his food, he finally spoke up. "You'd really want to?"

"Well I have no previous engagements, and I'd like to make some use of myself around here. I don't think being in charge of breakfast will suffice."

Cid chuckled softly at the remark and fell silent again, thinking.

"Alright," he replied. "You got yourself a deal. But let me ask you something…and don't get offended or anything, but do you even know anything about mechanics or engineering?"

"I was educated somewhat as a Turk for mandatory reasons, but I had some previous training in my youth before that. I'm a fast learner in any case."

The pilot nodded, "I'm impressed, to be honest," he said, licking the grease off of his fingers. "You learn somethin' new every day."


	9. 09

**09**

"No I _don't_ have the papers because they were never _sent _to me…It was some other kid; he took my information, you should have it in the computer!" A tense pause. Vincent sat on the couch in the living room with his back facing the pilot. He had been on the phone for quite some time now trying to talk some sense into that young man. "Just let me speak to the manager­—THE_ M A N A G E R_? Yes!" Cid sighed heavily, settling in his chair as he was put on hold, and muttered incoherently under his breath, though Vincent knew they were not any kind of words to be shouting to a stranger. "Yeah, I'm here…Nah, it's alright. Yeah. I don't remember his name, but—oh you do? Good." He tapped the end of his pencil against the paper on the table. "Yeah I can head out there. 'Round one. Alright thanks."

Before the pilot spoke, he scribbled something onto the paper and then shot out of the chair to grab his keys.

"I gotta make a run just southwest of town, 'bout an hour out to this guy's business. You're welcome to join me if you want. There's some stuff I need to pick up."

Since he now considered himself part of the hired help, Vincent decided that tagging along wouldn't hurt.

And it took around the time guessed it would, give or take a few minutes. They pulled up to a slightly off-white building which had been generously coated in the dust picked up by the wind that swept through the desert. As Cid parked his pick up right in front, an older man, with a good twenty years on the pilot, stepped out of the doorway down the three steps onto the sand.

"Well if it isn't Captain Highwind," he spoke with a smile; the corners of his weathered eyes wrinkled with crow's feet. "How've you been?"

"Can't exactly complain," Cid replied, taking the man's extended hand to shake it firmly. He then glanced over Cid's shoulder at the dark-haired man who lingered silently behind.

"And who might this be?"

"Where are my manners? This is Vincent Valentine. He's a friend of mine, also somewhat of a new addition to the team. Vince, this is Ian, an old pal of my dad's." They, too, shook hands. Vincent could tell that Ian had already given him a once over, but the man seemed nice enough to accept anyone who was a friend of Cid's. "I believe you have some parts for me?"

"You bet," Ian said as he turned to head back into the building. "I'm sorry it took so long. The entire market is still bouncing back from what happened six months ago, so I had to do a lot of research to find what you wanted." Over his shoulder, the older man smirked. "Good thing I have connections." He then proceeded behind the counter to pull out a few papers and made his way to the back door down another set of steps. Behind the building was another; a hangar of sorts, except it served as more of a glorified storage facility than anything else.

"I turn this into a warehouse after your father passed away, so I've been waiting to show you, but I was beginning to think you'd never come around again."

"Been pretty busy lately," Cid answered, stepping in through the hangar door. It was dark in there until Ian flipped a switch on the wall to his left. And then a row of lights running down the spine of the ceiling lit up consecutively, flickering at first, then dispersed enough illumination to locate what he was looking for.

"If my mind hasn't failed me…your things should be right…_here_." On a lower shelf to the right of the door is where the old man knelt, pulling out one box. "You'll have to forgive me. I can't lug this stuff out myself anymore. I'm sure you still have some strength left in that body of yours."

"No problem. Vince, you mind?"

With the help of the gunman, after pulling the truck around back, both men hauled the cargo onto the bed with little incident. Cid had slipped on a lone rock after the second trip, eliciting a small chuckle out of Vincent until he set down the box to help Cid up. But the pilot just glared at him, yanking his hand away as Vincent's laughter settled.

Ian merely watched with amusement.

The entire process took much longer than expected, and the sun had even dropped below the horizon, leaving the night sky littered with bright stars.

"Well I apologize for how long it took to get all of this done and dealt with, but it was good to see you again."

Cid shut the door of the bed before replying, and clapped his hands together to get rid of the dust. "Don't worry about it."

"You should come by more often. We need to catch up."

They shook hands again, and Cid smiled softly. "Ah, well I'll have to get back to you on that. But we'll be in touch."

The old man nodded, although his expression was filled with a slight despondence, Ian knew that Cid had to be on his way.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Vincent. Have a safe trip home."

From the stairs, Ian watched and waved as the truck pulled away, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. The brake lights disappeared eventually in the dark night, and all fell quiet once more.

The truck bounced as it traveled steadily down the makeshift road, and inside the cabin in the background hummed the radio softly. There had been something on Vincent's mind since the moment Ian appeared from out of the building. He found it difficult to remain silent, though, and sought to satisfy his curiosity.

"Were Ian and your father good friends?"

It seemed that Cid had zoned out during the moment they left up until that point. "Mh? Oh, yeah. They've been friends since they were kids."

A few moments of silence passed before either one of them spoke up. Vincent had another question. "He said your father passed. When did that happen?"

"Hmm…couple years before the meteor crisis. It's been almost seven years coming up the end of this month, actually." Cid chuckled. "He'd be about your age."

"I'm sorry…"

"Nah, it's alright..."

Again, the cab fell silent as they continued down the dusty road. Vincent felt his eyes grow heavy, they stung a little, and he leaned his head against the frame. They would be home soon. Hopefully he wouldn't fall asleep between then.


	10. 10

**10**

Inside the engine room both men worked diligently—Cid at one end and Vincent at the other. Vincent, however, as he leaned in closely to get a better look at the panel, received a significantly painful shock every now and them, only to quickly yank his hand away at the tremor that coursed into his skin. He gave the wire one last try before giving up completely, and managed to finish this set with less injury than the last, but another one awaited his attention.

From behind, Cid came wiping the grease off of his calloused hands, smiling down at the gunman as he sucked on his finger.

"It's been a while," Vincent confessed. Cid just knelt down beside him with a smile. The gunman scooted over slightly so that the pilot had room to work as thought it were a daily routine.

"I know it's hard not to let the wires touch. These ones are a bit tricky because of the way I installed them, though. Even the other crewmen have a hard time not coming out of here with their hair standing on end." The room silenced as Cid finished the job. "There," he sighed, just inches away from the other man. It was boiling hot inside the cramped space, and both of them were sweating buckets—being next to each other only made it worse. He stood upright having come over for a reason other than to check on the gunman and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. "One of the structural bolts is coming loose over here and I can't screw it off myself 'cause the grooves are twisted. Would you mind giving me a hand?"

Vincent joined the pilot and, after rolling up his sleeves, positioned himself on the other side of the lever under Cid's hands. The blond counted off first before making any moves, and then pulled back while Vincent pushed.

It took both their strength to unscrew the bolt, but it worked. With a lot of effort and an extra push, the lever finally did its job­­. But in the dense and high temperatures in the small compartment, their hands had become slick with sweat, making it difficult to hold a firm grip on the metal. Combined with the force of Vincent's weight, as he flew forward, he collided hard into Cid, sending them both into the control panel.

Cid cried out loudly when his back hit the wall with a painful clamor. And having Vincent's heaviness against him was not much of a help. Still, Vincent scrambled to his feet immediately once the initial blow passed; his only concern was hoping that he hadn't done too much damage.

* * *

"_Ahh!_" 

"Sorry…"

Vincent dabbed the wound as lightly as possible, but it didn't seem to matter much even with his deft touch.

He would be done soon, applying the bandage next.

"Nnn…"

Cid rubbed his neck vigorously having hit his shoulder blade against one of the knobs; the pain, though, shot through the rest of his back.

"This is my fault. I apologize."

"Nah, it was an accident. It gets pretty dangerous in there, so don't blame yourself."

They had only made it into the kitchen where Cid sat on a chair, backwards so that Vincent could work quickly with the first aid kit. He held the scraps in his hands as Cid assured the gunman he had no reason to take responsibility for what happened, yet stopped him as he worked to clean up.

"Let me take care of that," the pilot insisted. "Go clean yourself up." The generous amount of sweat that coated his entire body, coupled with dirt and grease from the ship was enough to make even the gunman feel completely disgusted; he couldn't argue against the enticing suggestion.

Night had graced the valley only a few hours later, but Vincent's unease didn't diminish away with the day like he hoped it would. That had always been a problem of his, so quick to take the blame himself where blame seemed most fit. As he sat on the back porch staring off somewhere into the distance, Vincent soaked in the silence, and the concern that goaded him­­—until the door opened quietly from behind.

"Can't sleep?" asked the blond. Cid hugged himself with his arms, reacting to the cold breeze as he stepped outside.

Vincent jumped slightly at the unexpected company and glanced over his shoulder. Cid joined the gunman taking a seat next to him, but they didn't speak right away; only the crickets could be heard.

"How is your back?"

"Well I'm not going to say I can't sleep because of it…" Immediately, Vincent's eyes shot up to meet Cid's but he just laughed. "Really, don't worry about it. I guess I'm just havin' a hard time fallin' asleep tonight myself." The pilot stood up a few moments later and slapped Vincent on the shoulder before heading back inside. "Don't stay up too late," he joked; the door shut softly behind him.


	11. 11

**11**

"Hey Vince, I—" Cid paused in the middle of his sentence when he stepped in through the kitchen doorway, noticing that Vincent was not in sight as his eyes scanned the house. It was silent, even though that was normal for this late hour, but Cid ventured in further never speaking a word.

After a brief moment of searching, he found himself in the living room staring down at the gunman who had fallen asleep on the couch—a book under his arm.

_Now that's something I haven't seen in a while,_ Cid thought as he grabbed a small blanket from the back f the couch to drape over Vincent.

He had always been able to doze off anywhere, Cid recalled from their previous journey through the Meteor Crisis after having to share a room with him so many times before. At times it wasn't even a room, but on a train or a bouncing truck, though the location didn't matter, as long as he was tired.

**Three Years Ago…**

_They'd found themselves in the woods this time, "camping" as Tifa so optimistically suggested. It seemed that Cloud, having been designated the unofficial leader of their little group, always bunched them together in smaller sets for when it came time to sleep (or in some cases, save as much gil as possible)._

_So Cid and Vincent would bunk together normally, but in the wilderness it wasn't a room, it was a tent, and a small one at that._

_Before setting himself down to sleep, Cid caught Tifa on her way back to the tent she would share with Yuffie, who stopped to say a quick 'goodnight'._

"_Oh! Sorry," she whispered, catching a glimpse inside to find the gunman had already drifted to sleep. "He must be exhausted."_

"_Yeah, well we all had a rough day," Cid replied._

_The fighter took one more glance only to find herself smiling at Vincent. "He looks so cute," she said. Vincent twitched. "Like a little angel." Although it wasn't something that Cid had bothered to notice before, the moment Tifa pointed it out, he seemed to understand exactly what she was talking about…_

That moment had never escaped him, and the pilot could only think back to it now as he gaze down at the sleeping gunman; his eyes fluttered ever so slightly, chest rising and falling as he breathed softly…

Something in the pit of his stomach caught Cid off guard, however, as a wave of apprehension crashed over his stomach. He turned away before the nerves could convince him Vincent would surely wake up to find Cid staring down at him, _smiling_ even, but scurried silently out of the room before that could happen.


	12. 12

**12**

On the living room floor, Vincent sat amongst the scattered paperwork which was one of the tasks he had taken upon himself—to organize. Some were in piles and some loose, but they would all end up in the dossier box that had been labeled_business files. _He found himself about half way through when a familiar noise grabbed his attention, and Vincent jumped up from off the floor to run to the window, pressing the side of his face against the glass to get a good look.

There in the sky the climbing higher and higher was the Tiny Bronco with Cid behind the throttle.

He had been out there for quite some time, from early morning just before the sun peaked over the horizon to late in the afternoon. Though he had been working on the plane for quite some time before that, Cid always talked about how he planned on getting it working again and that she hadn't seen her last day in the sky just yet.

Vincent could only imagine the massive smile the pilot wore as he stepped outside of the house to watch Cid loop around the outskirts of the town. He watched with a bit of a smirk as well knowing how excited the man would be once he touched down, and met Cid eventually back at the hangar.

As expected, or perhaps even more so, Cid was bursting with excitement.

"Did you see that!? I can't believe it! She flew just like she was new again!"

"I saw," Vincent replied, smiling even bigger now. He hadn't taken too much notice to how much joy was really radiating off of Cid and onto him and could feel no less than excited without wanting to jump for joy. "Congratulations."

"Congratulations!? You've gotta be kidding me, Vince. This calls for a full on celebration!"

On their way back from the hangar to the house, as the sun began to set behind the hills, Cid burst through the back door into the kitchen headed straight for the cupboards. It took him a moment to find what he was looking for, but he soon emerged with a rather large bottle of some clear liquor and two shot glasses—one for him, one for Vincent, which the gunman, with little reluctance, accepted.

"Here's to my unprecedented mechanical skills and the 9 lives this baby has yet to live…and I also couldn't have done it without your help, Vince," a lift and a swig, "Cheers!" He slammed the cup down hard onto the table, wincing at the potency of the drink only to refill both of their cups.

Forty minutes had passed from the moment they shared in the kitchen to when they found themselves laying on the right wing of the Tiny Bronco; in between them the now half empty bottle of liquor.

"Y'know I haven't been this excited in a while," Cid spoke with a bit of a slur to his words. He wasn't entirely drunk at that point, but had consumed enough alcohol that it was noticeable. "I thought I'd never have the time or the money to get 'er workin' again. N'now she flies like an angel."

High in the night sky the stars glimmered like moonlight as it hit the ocean, completely free of any obscurity, and the warm atmosphere made it all the more worth while.

Only the crickets chirping somewhere off in the distance could be heard, staying that way for sometime until Cid took the liberty to speak up. It caught Vincent off guard as he had somehow drifted into a light doze.

"Hey, Vince…"

"Mmm?"

"Thanks."

He shifted, propping himself up with an elbow to gaze down at the blond who lay on his back with his hands cupped behind his head.

"What for?"

"I 'unno, just bein' here, I guess. It's been a bigger help than you know."

Vincent simply sighed and returned to lie back on the wing. "I should be the one thanking you."

But Cid chuckled and sighed heavily in reply instead. "I don't feel like repeating myself, so I won't." He glanced at his watch quickly, squinting his eyes a bit to read the time. "We should go back in. It's gettin' late; don't wanna fall asleep out here."

The gunman had already felt the effects of their little celebration and was quick to agree as they carefully made their way down the ladder off the wing. On the last rung Vincent had made it safely down and was about to step away until the pilot came crashing down, having lost his footing.

Once the initial blow passed, Vincent regained his senses slowly but surely only to find that Cid had landed directly on top of him with his face buried in his chest. His weight pushed down heavily against the gunman, almost to the point where he couldn't breathe for a moment, but when the pilot soon erupted with laughter, Vincent could only lie there even chuckling himself a little as Cid cackled hysterically.


	13. 13

**13**

Three months. It seemed so much longer than that but Vincent had only been there for a short time. And within that short time he had taken upon himself, not only as a guest in Cid's home, but an associate of sorts as well, seeing to the messages left on the machine.

Since morning, Cid had been busy with taking care of some business while Vincent remained at the house; though he had taken a quick trip to the market, there were 3 to listen to while he put the groceries away.

On the last one now, still not paying much attention as the first two had been from the bank, Vincent was about to press the stop button until he recognized the voice on the machine, stopping him in his tracks.

"Hello, Cid. It's me, Shera. I know this is coming out of the blue, but I've been thinking about you lately and wanted to give you a call. I've just been so busy here in Junon, I haven't even had time for myself. Heh. But enough about me, how about yourself? Have you had any luck with the business? I know you were having some trouble before, I hope everything is going well now." Pause. "Well, I don't want to keep blabbering on, but I would like to hear from you. We parted ways on such a bad note…and I've wanted to work things out. I'll understand if you don't, though. I just thought that it was worth a try. Anyway, if not then I hope you'll take care of yourself. I'll anticipate a call back should you change your mind."

_Click_.

Even as the machine shut itself off, Vincent found himself standing stiff in front of the counter staring down at the blinking red light. He couldn't believe it, could hardly think of anything else…only the fact that he had been completely blind this whole time.

_How could I be so stupid?_

Not a moment later and his own phone went off, startling him out of his stupor.

* * *

"Hey Vince, you here?"

Cid shut the front door behind him arriving home a few hours later and searched inside the house high and low only to find it completely empty, drawing him outside towards the hangar as that was the only other place he knew to look.

It was night already, and the temperatures had dropped enough to make him shiver. But that didn't deter him from trying to track down the gunman, who he found after a few minutes at the very back of the hangar with a cigarette hanging from between his lips.

"I didn't know you smoked," the pilot said, shoving his hands in his pockets to approach Vincent at a steady pace.

The gunman did not reply, however, and exhaled into the sky above as Cid took the empty seat beside him.

"What're you doin' out here? It's cold…"

For a moment, silence was all he could offer. But Vincent knew that Cid would only find himself confused in the midst of trying to understand anything up to that point. Not even the gunman knew what to think.

"Reeve called."

With wide eyes, Cid met Vincent's blatantly sorrowful gaze.

"What'd he say?"

"He's managed to work out the kinks and has offered my position back."

"I see…" _He knows…_ "What did you tell him?"

"I said I'd think about it."

Surely these quick and direct answers would be enough to satisfy the pilot's curiosity, Vincent hoped. But his desperate attempt to remain unaffected seemed to prove futile.

Cid smiled in reply, though he couldn't fool anyone—neither of them.

"Well I don't want you to feel obligated, y'know. Don't get me wrong, you're welcome here whenever and it's been great having you around, but this was only temporary."

_How can he say that…?_ _Maybe it is a good idea to leave…just maybe…_

He stood up briefly after, pausing for only a moment to add one more thing. "Just think about it. You're welcome to stay, though."

Vincent watched as Cid walked towards the house, eventually disappearing in the thick darkness and safe behind the walls of the house. He sighed heavily, crushing the still burning cigarette against the cement.


	14. 14

**14**

Overhead, a bell chimed as the door opened and Cid walked in. He hadn't been there for some time, not since his trip with Vincent, but Ian was glad to see the pilot again. Except Cid wasn't expecting the old man to insist, or rather, demand, that he join him in the back room for some tea.

At the table, both of them sat silently for a moment under the dim light. It was high noon, but there were no windows there—Cid never knew why; he didn't bother to question it either.

"You seem unhappy," Ian noted. Steam rose steadily and billowed into the air from Cid's tea cup, but he never took a sip, just kept both of his hands wrapped around the glossy coated mug. "What's wrong?"

Cid shied away from the old man's curious gaze—what could he say? Not even the pilot knew exactly why he felt this heavy pull on his heart. He hadn't even slept the night before, and did not feel any better after what happened that morning.

"It's not important," Cid replied, mumbling at best.

"It's not? You wouldn't look so down if it wasn't important."

Even as Ian tried his best to get the pilot talking, he could see his approach at getting anything out was futile, and opted for another angle.

"You know you're just like your father…so stubborn. I had to force everything out of him. It'd always be something with your mother, before they were married. And we were close, so he always confided in me. But it was like pulling teeth." Ian paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. "You remind me so much of him."

The old man fell silent once again, this time Cid couldn't help the shame he felt rising from the pit of his stomach—except he hadn't anticipated what would come out of Ian's mouth next.

"Oh…where is your friend, Vincent?" Surprised, wide-eyed and speechless, Cid gazed at Ian. "He was a nice young man; quiet but nice."

* * *

"Vincent…_Vincent?_"

The dark-haired man snapped out of his stupor only to meet Yuffie's irritated gaze. She stood with her hands on her hips, tapping one foot. She was _fuming_.

"Would you quit day dreaming and pay attention? Yeesh, I swear!" the young girl huffed as she marched to the other side of the room.

_Get it together…_


	15. 15

**15**

_He hoped it wasn't true, or at least Vincent would decide to stay instead of return back to Edge. But when Cid woke to find the gunman readying what little belongings he had, Cid knew exactly what he had settled on, and the knot in his stomach grew even heavier._

_In the doorway Cid paused, Vincent stood upright, surprised to see the pilot awake at such an hour; the sun hadn't even risen yet._

"_You're leaving?"_

_As obvious as it was, Vincent felt that Cid was at least deserving of somewhat of an explanation. With what little courage he could muster, he would give it an attempt._

"_I believe you'll do fine without me. It's like you said, this was only temporary. But I appreciate your hospitality, and I do wish you good luck with your work." Vincent paused, however, when Cid stopped him, seemingly annoyed for some reason and approached with an odd look in his eyes._

"_Look I know what I said, but because this was temporary doesn't mean you have to leave. You didn't even bother to tell anyone you'd lost your home, much less ask Reeve for compensation, and now you wanna put yourself in the same situation?"_

_He was surprised, needless to say, by the sudden indignation Cid felt he needed to express. And Vincent had little idea of how to respond._

_To retreat was what he knew best now, yet among the company of the man he'd grown undeniably intimate with. Cid Highwind surely knew how to stir his sentiments._

_After a few brief moments to gather his thoughts, Vincent sighed heavily, keeping his gaze low and replied in that hoarse tone._

"_I don't want to argue with you, I've made my decision." Headed through the doorway, down the hall and to the front door, Vincent walked with an artificial confidence as only to appear as composed as normal. He paused before making his leave to add one last thing. "Thank you…"_

_There was no doubt in his mind that it took literally all of Cid's self control to refrain from shouting obscenities or pushing for a _real_ answer. The tension between them was painfully evident, though Vincent knew he couldn't even begin to explain what had swayed his thinking. He would run away from this, scared from the bottom of his heart and hope that maybe it would simply disappear. _

_Though the thought of losing Cid, and over something so trivial, found him a deeper concern._


	16. 16

**16**

Shards of glass shattered, spraying everywhere as the small black box went flying through the window. He knew he'd have to get a new one, but at that particular moment, Cid couldn't convince himself of the pitiful excuse in order to sacrifice expressing his anger.

It was not the damn job offer.

Nor was it the fact that his stay was only temporary. Not even _close_.

"How could I have been so stupid?!" Cid shouted as he marched through the house to find his jacket and keys—the window would have to be attended to later.

"That is _it!_" A loud crack startled Reeve from his concentration as the door to his office swung open with a powerful force, hitting the wall hard behind it. Yuffie appeared, and she was fuming. "I cannot work like this anymore!"

He stood up from his chair, rounding the desk to approach the furious young woman to inquire about her peculiar visit.

"What happened?"

"It's Vincent. He decided to disappear for some reason without telling us and no one has seen or heard from him since," she spat, throwing her arms in the air to emphasize her already obvious frustration.

"Disappeared?" Reeve echoed.

"I'm telling you. He may be difficult to deal with in the first place, but it wasn't that bad before. Something is really wrong here and I'm not sure what. Would you please talk to him? All of this vanishing into thin air stuff won't work for me."

The dark haired man nodded even in the midst of his confusion. "I understand," he spoke softly and escorted Yuffie to the hall. She had already made herself quite understood.

* * *

Although it wasn't unusual for Reeve to stick around after hours, he hadn't done so in quite a while. It was late this time, just an hour before midnight when he finally pulled himself away from his desk and peered out the towering window behind him. He rubbed his wary eyes having been staring so long at the pile of papers stacked in front of him, but it was dark outside and difficult to see much of anything anyway.

There was a moment of disappointment when he figured perhaps sticking around until such a late hour would prove fruitless, until out of the corner of his eyes he spotted familiar figure as it ambled up the courtyard deliberately avoiding those who lingered. Reeve found himself downstairs and racing through the shadows to catch up with him only a few moments later. It was cold outside, but things needed to be done.

"I suppose it's a good thing you disappeared after the fact," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets to shield them from the bitter temperature. Silence was the only reply and plenty of it until Reeve spoke up again. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

It took the gunman much longer than he would've liked to come up with a response. Even alone without the distraction of others Vincent could hardly come close to making sense of his thoughts, but there was one that stuck saliently from the rest; one thing he could no longer deny.

"I'm not sure if I can do this anymore…"

Reeve's reply, however, stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Can't? Or won't?"

The man always had a way with his words, and this time was no different.

Reeve waited a moment before he pushed himself upright having been leaning against the cement partition. He began to stroll back to the entrance of the building, adding one more thing over his shoulder before disappearing completely.

"There's a small get-together in celebration for the team's hard work soon and I'd like to see you there."

_Celebration,_ Vincent thought. One quick glance down and back up yet the other man was already gone, leaving no time for him to politely decline.


	17. 17

**17**

He couldn't stay in there any longer, unable to think or even breathe for that matter, and Reeve knew it but he never questioned Vincent's reasoning, only watched as the gunman headed quickly out the door into the hall.

Finally, it was as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, at least he felt the pressure fade away, but Vincent hadn't gotten far enough away from just yet. So he walked, and walked and walked and found himself in the main lobby of the massive building. The front doors were so close and so tempting, within arms reach and beyond that—freedom.

Or so he thought…

Through the entrance and into his sight appeared a man he did not expect to see, Cid Highwind, and he was coming right for him.

"Vince!"

Suddenly he couldn't move his feet; they remained still in place near the far back wall. Cid on the other hand, was racing at a fast pace.

"What are you doing?" the gunman hissed. "Why are you here?" he asked, though the question seemed to come out harsher than he wanted.

"I need to talk to you."

All Vincent could do was stand there silently; he didn't notice that the blond had taken him by the wrist.

One quick sweep across the room and he only spotted a few people, most of them focused on something else, too busy to pay much attention.

"Please, let go…"

"I won't."

"_Cid..."_

"Not until you talk to me."

A frown washed over his face and his heart skipped a beat when he met that fierce blue gaze. At that point, Vincent knew _exactly_ where this was going, yet he couldn't seem to get his body moving in order to run away like last time.

Behind them a woman strolled by at a steady pace. She didn't seem to think much of the way Cid stood so close to the other man, or the way he held firmly onto his wrist--simply flashed a peek and continued on her way. And then before he was being pulled out of the main lobby into a hall. They ended up finding seclusion in an exit stairwell where Cid began to explain himself.

"I made a stupid decision, letting you leave like that."

"What do you mean?" _Play it stupid. Way to go, Vincent._

"Don't try and act like you have no idea what I'm talking about. I may not understand all this myself, but I think there's something pretty obvious going on here."

Silence was all he could respond with. Words had escaped him.

Vincent felt his heart jump when the pilot approached him, gulping down his fright thick and painfully.

"Why did you go like that all of a sudden--makin' a face like that? You were heart broken…"

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

"God damnit, Vince!" Cid snapped. "Why can't you at least make an effort? I'm not any more comfortable than you are yet here I am tracking you down for no logical reason. Do you know how long it took me to get to this place? I was up all night since they're not done repairing the ship…and that's just the beginning! I had to avoid two _storms_ just to find my way to the God damn city…I—"

"—_Cid_."

Even Vincent surprised himself when he lunged forward, grabbed a handful of the blond's jacket collar and claimed his lips in a rather avid kiss. They stumbled against the wall with a thud, but Cid never pushed him away, punched or even screamed. In fact, he didn't do any of those things.

While it seemed like forever, Vincent eventually pulled away, slowly at first, and then lowered his head to rest upon Cid's shoulder.

"Wow," Cid breathed. "Can't say I was expecting that…"

Vincent offered no response. How could he after doing something like that? There was one thing he certainly couldn't deny, as many flips as his stomach had taken, it felt equally—and even more so—downright _good_.

If only there was a distraction, a legitimate reason to break the awkward situation between them. Then there were hands at his waist, pushing him back slightly so that he was forced to look into Cid's eyes.

"I think we need to find another room."


	18. 18

**18**

Any secluded room would do as long as it had a lock on the door; however, after a quick stroll down the hallway at the other end of the building the two men found they were not alone no matter where they went. It was mutually decided upon that they would take the risk of being caught by one of the janitorial employees on duty, and picked an empty conference room to continue their conversation in.

Although Cid wasn't aiming to make much of a scene, he found it difficult to retain himself as he securely locked the door. Once he was sure they would have at least a bit of privacy, he turned to face the gunman who watched with a curious, almost nervous twinkle in his eyes.

Just the sight of him and knowing what Vincent had done only a few minutes ago was enough to convince the pilot to throw his hesitation to the wind. In one swift move Cid rushed the gunman, pushing him against the edge of the desk as they picked up from where they last left off.

Even hungrier this time, Cid kissed Vincent with a passion he hadn't felt in much too long a time. He lost a bit of restraint in keeping from touching Vincent's body. After all, he hadn't been with anyone in quite a while, though Vincent was a man and it _was_ his first time being with one after all.

There was a palpable uncertainty that lingered in the atmosphere, unfortunately, though the gunman didn't seem to want to stop as he was the one who initiated their state of affairs in the first place.

"Wait a minute," Cid said, breaking the kiss. While Vincent just had to lean there against the table, clothes disheveled and his face flushed from the intensity, even his heavy breathing, which the pilot could feel under the weight of his own body, had some strange way of enticing him. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know."

_I want to touch him…_

"Vince." Cid propped himself upright, placing his hands on the table after bending over the gunman and sighed heavily. No matter how much his body screamed for more, he couldn't very well avoid the entire reason he'd traveled half way across a continent and the sea. "Is this what you were running from?"

He couldn't tell if Vincent was blushing or not by how red his cheeks were, except that the gunman hesitated enough in his response that the answer was quite clear.

Cid dropped his head again this time and just laughed.


	19. 19

**19**

Vincent moaned loudly into the kiss. Cid had already removed that bulky cloak, tossed it aside onto the floor below the table and managed to get loose those annoying buttons on his shirt. It would be a lot easier to touch him without the hamper of clothes, but since they were in an office in immediate risk of being caught, they knew it best to keep on as much of their attire as possible for safety's sake. 

"Quiet, Vince…" the pilot murmured, breathing heavily as he went in for the gunman's mouth again. Hopefully this time it would prevent him from making too much noise, though Cid would've much preferred to hear him cry for more… 

"_Sorry..."_

They would have to finish this sooner, unfortunately, rather than later. Except it had become a necessity at this point, there was no way Cid, or even Vincent for that matter, would stop simply because of the fact that they might get caught.

The pilot found himself surprised to feel one of Vincent's hand ghost down his chest, brushing lightly against his abdomen that twitched under the soft touch, where a finger hooked into the hem of his pants, pulling him closer. He could feel the swelling even through the obstruction of their pants, standing at the edge of the table with Vincent's legs wrapped around his waist. And then the gunman snaked his other hand between their bodies already crushed together in search of the buckle on his belt.

Cid couldn't believe what he was seeing; mesmerized by the way Vincent so deftly removed the accessory and then moved straight to the button and zipper. He gave one hard tug and the jeans fell loose around his waist, but Vincent was so direct; he left Cid in the dust.

"Wait," the pilot snapped, grabbing Vincent by the wrists before he could dive in any further.

When their eyes met, Vincent stared at him inquisitively waiting for an explanation as to why he had been stopped. It seemed that Cid was still the only one with any reservations about this, even if he had no idea why. 

He always had a way about him that could just as easily bring Cid to his knees. Leaning forward, Vincent kissed him softly this time, fully intent on easing out that uncertainty with his mouth, hot and wet.

It seemed to work well this time as the intensity picked up again. Cid ran his hands up and down the length of Vincent's thighs, squeezing, wanting to touch more of him. By then, Vincent had taken the liberty of undoing the rest of his clothing, belt and pants to make the job easier.

It shocked Vincent at first the way Cid pushed him back onto the desk, and even more so once he felt those hands travel further north. He gasped at the touch now on his growing erection and bit his lip to bite back another powerful moan. Sure it had been over 30 years since he was last with someone, but the way Cid touched him felt unbelievable, too good to describe with words, and left him wanting so much more.

He told himself couldn't wait any longer; grabbing the pilot by his shoulder's to pull himself up.

"Do it," Vincent murmured next to his ear. His breath was hot against Cid's skin and sent a shiver down his spine. There was no more hesitation on the pilot's end. Cid's hand sunk into his boxer shorts to take a rather firm yet mindful grasp around the base of his erection. He squeezed ever so gently and those bright blue eyes traveled up the length of Vincent's bare stomach…chest…neck…to look upon him with an intense passion. 

It was painfully clear in the way his eyes glazed over with a thin film of tears, just how much the gunman wanted to cry out. And it wasn't any easier for Cid knowing that the slightest odd sound might expose what little privacy they had. 

He licked his lips at the sight of the bead of pre cum that seeped out, and went directly into the crook of Vincent's neck to place a trail of kisses down his collar bone. Vincent threw his head back at the attack, sighing heavily and bucking his hips a bit as his body began to lose control.

"_Mmmhh…_"

"This is crazy," Cid huffed.

"Feels good…"

"You like that?"

Vincent brought his head back up, placing his hand on Cid's chest with the other one propping him upright.� Only a nod was needed.

The pilot then grabbed a handful of Vincent's shirt and pulled him upright. In his free hand, he took his own erection and brought them together, stroking with more vigor than before.

Their lips crushed together again, painfully though neither of them could have cared less. The friction between their bodies made the heat rise steadily, incredible and ridiculous as the same time as the desire rose with each touch. Vincent wrapped one arm around Cid's shoulder for leverage, though mostly to get as close as possible.

Both of their arousals were now coated generously with sweat and release, but the full brunt of it had not yet come. 

"Vince,_Ican'tholdoutanylonger_."

The gunman's reply was muffled by Cid's shoulder, something along the lines of "me neither" followed by a spasm that racked Vincent's entire body like lightning.

Cid swallowed hard, letting the lump pass through his throat before he let go completely. Because it had been so powerful, he grabbed the bottom of the gunman's shirt in order to brace himself while Vincent remained holding tightly onto his shoulders, riding out the wake of their release as every muscle in his body clenched agonizingly.

Those few brief minutes had been above and beyond; neither couldn't have asked—or imagined even—for anything more.

"Oh my God," the pilot groaned, slowly but surely laxing his grip. He had completely lost his breath, both of them, and struggled to find a normal rhythm again. 

"Shit…"

A quick glance down at his shirt and he noticed they hadn't been so careful in avoiding the inevitable mess.

Vincent was the one to chuckle this time, and picked softly at the fabric.

"How are we going to explain this one?"


	20. 20

**20**

No matter how hard he tried, Vincent Valentine could not walk down the hall in the other end of the building without thinking, as their eyes met briefly—an innocent glance, really—that every single person knew exactly what Cid and he had been up to. Fortunately for the pilot, his jacket covered the mess they had made on his shirt, and Vincent's cloak did the same for his own clothing.

To get out of there they would need to pass through this area right next to where the celebration still went strong; however much to their luck, Reeve had stepped into the hall for a conversation only to spot the too men rushing by quickly in hopes that they could avoid such a situation.

The director caught up with the two men near the entrance of the main lobby, stopping and pulling them off to the side. 

"Cid, what are you doing here?"

For a moment, the pilot hesitated in his reply. He had been planning ahead.

"Uh…Vince was helping me with my business while he the mission was on hold, and I needed to speak with him about some stuff. I heard you guys were throwin' a party?"

"Oh yes. I'm sure he mentioned it," Reeve said. Cid nodded, and their attention was turned to the gunman. "Are you leaving?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well I'm glad you could make it for a while at least; it was good to have you here." The ice clinked together in Reeve's empty cup. He couldn't stand around in one place for very long. "You must excuse me. I can't neglect my guests for much longer."

A close one, now that they were home free. It was only a short distance to the exit and they encountered no distractions on the way out. Through the doorway night had invaded the sky, along with an ominous blanket of clouds that showered a cold and hard rain upon the city. Only a few moments into the downpour had drenched them from head to toe. Some shelter was in order.

"Come on!" the pilot spoke loudly over the drone of heavy droplets. He darted across the main road throwing a hand in the air to hail a cab. Out of the few that roamed the streets looking for patrons, one of them stopped and they both hopped into the back seat. It was the best form of transportation at this point to avoid getting too wet before arriving at the airstation.


	21. 21

**21**

The sun was bright that day, and not a cloud could be seen in the sky. Temperatures had been a record high in Rocket Town, so it was only natural that anyone under the blazing wear as little or as light clothing as possible. 

On the back porch is where Vincent could be found lounging in a lawn chair with his feet propped up and crossed. He lay there with his eyes closed, chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. Cid couldn't help but sit down as quietly as possible on a crate adjacent to him, watching with a smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. A sheer glaze of sweat glimmered in the sunlight on his forehead, but he _was_ in that damn get up—without the cloak, bandana and boots.

For a short time, the pilot reveled in the sight, knowing full well that it was a rarity and that he should be grateful as—to his knowledge—not too many people had seen before. But it didn't last long when the gunman roused with a small start.

He glared at first, eyes adjusting to the intense illumination, and soon Vincent realized that he was being stared at.

"Cid…"

"I don't understand how you can sit out here in this weather hotter than the blazes of hell and damnation itself."

A black tank top and cargo shorts were the choice pieces Cid settled with, but he had come back covered with perspiration, dirt and grease. With the rag in his hand, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and headed into the house where it was a tad bit cooler with the fans running, Vincent followed.

"How are things coming?" the gunman asked. The question was followed by a yawn.

"Ahh, I did all I could. Can't say I expected her to work like new. I'm just thankful I managed to_live_ after that scare." Cid tossed the soiled rag down the hallway into the small open closet, then turned to face Vincent who had leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Other than that, I've got a shipment later this week—first one, can you believe it?"

Vincent smirked slightly in response, which only elicited one out of the pilot as well. Surely he had something up his sleeve with a look like that.

"Y'know I do have some time in between," he purred, approaching Vincent and snaking his hands around his waist. Cid pressed his hips against the gunman's, leaning in to kiss him softly, deeply.

The kiss was long and intensified with a fiery passion. Cid brushed the tip of his tongue to persuade Vincent's lips open, and met his tongue welcomingly. Though it didn't last for long, the moment the gunman broke the kiss, took a handful of Cid's shirt in his fist and pulled him out of the kitchen down the hall with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"What's _this_ all about?"

At the bathroom door now, Vincent paused and turned to answer. "You need a shower," he said, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind them. 


	22. 22

**22**

This wasn't the first time they'd done it there, and in the summer they found themselves there beating the heat mostly, under the strong spray of the water from the shower head. Cold was best to beat the high temperatures it seemed, though getting clean had little to do with the small cubicle anyway.

Cid had pinned the gunman between his body and the tiled wall, pressing and rubbing his erection against Vincent's bottom half while his hands explored what parts he could reach. There was only a small amount of room for both men to be standing in, but the close quarters weren't exactly much of a concern.

With one hand, Vincent propped himself against the wall in front of him, while the other wrapped tightly around the hot water knob now that things were getting dangerous. He was liable to slip the way Cid pumped so vigorously into him; the pilot had to use both hands to grasp his hips. It didn't seem like enough, though.

Over the muscles that flexed under the skin of his back, Cid ran a hand up the gunman's spine and down the same path he traced. For a moment, Cid slowed his speed, reveling in the warmth that enveloped him.

Vincent flashed a glance around his shoulder and Cid leaned in closely, never once breaking the rhythm they had both found together.

"Cid…"

"Mmm?"

He closed his eyes briefly to stifle a moan.

"_Fuck me harder."_

Just the expression on his face was enough to throw the pilot over the edge, but Vincent had to accompany it with a hoarse tone and tantalizing essence. He wasted no time in complying with the order, pumping hard enough to the point that his muscles burned. He would never give into the pain, and wouldn't for as long as he could hold out if it weren't the feel of rising pleasure that rippled through his body.

The pilot groaned loudly, giving one last push forward into Vincent who had taken to stroking his own erection—

"…_Auhh_!"

Cid grabbed hold of one shoulder this time, after the initial wave passed, and took the gunman by surprise when he kicked off the second round.

- - 

"Hey, Vince…?"

Lying on his side curled in the fetal position seemed to be the best way to minimize the pain, though it was difficult trying to sleep like that in the first place, it was still _hot_, and there were no signs that the temperature would drop significantly anytime soon.

Carefully, Vincent rolled to glance over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about earlier."

"It's fine," he sighed.

"I don't normally get out of control like that." A hand brushed lightly over his back. Neither of them had much clothing on and only slept with a sheet. "You forgive me?"

In the darkness of the bedroom, the only thing Cid could hear for a moment was the hum of the fan that revolved in the corner of the room. Eventually, with what strength he could muster, Vincent turned around to face the pilot, answering with a kiss.


End file.
